


drawing lines (and crossing them)

by wave_of_sorrow



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Relationship Development, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wave_of_sorrow/pseuds/wave_of_sorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Doctor is annoyed with Jack, and then there's spanking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	drawing lines (and crossing them)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I can't seem to finish anything else I'm working on and what I do finish is complete rubbish. Also because there needs to be more Nine/Jack and I swear I didn't have a spanking kink before these two came along.
> 
> I did promise I'd write something sexy and non-traumatic for them, so here you go. (It's Nine/Jack because let's face it, pre-Parting of the Ways Doctor/Jack is the only option I had if it wasn't going to be one big ouch.)

Jack pushes Rose into the TARDIS and slams the doors behind them, and the Doctor’s already at the console and triggering the dematerialisation sequence. The ship shudders and shakes around them, and Rose doubles over as she finally lets the harsh coughing fit she’s been fighting for the past twenty minutes seize her. Jack wants to comfort her as she gags and chokes and wheezes, but the best he can manage with his vision gone out of focus and his ears ringing is rubbing between her shoulder blades with a shaking hand.

Neither of them is out of shape, or if they ever were then travelling with the Doctor took care of it, but being chased across an entire planet, albeit a small one, is enough to exhaust even their supply of energy.

“Whew.” Rose lets out an unsteady breath, tries to laugh and ends up coughing again. She straightens, and wipes her streaming eyes and runny nose on her sleeve, and her skin is blotchy red from her hairline to where it disappears under her shirt. “That was close.”

The Doctor scowls at the monitor, the only indication that he was right next to them as they ran for their lives his somewhat quicker-than-normal breathing, and with them panting and gasping next to him it only makes Jack and Rose feel even more like naughty kids. When it becomes apparent he won’t say anything Rose looks at Jack, and all he can offer her is a forced smile as he clenches his jaw against the burning in his lungs and the metallic taste in his mouth.

“I think I’m gonna,” Rose says, her voice raw, and flops an arm in the general direction of the doorway leading deeper into the TARDIS, “take a shower and then crash.”

Jack wants to tell her to drink some water and eat something before she sleeps, but he thinks he might be sick if he opens his mouth, so he only nods.

The Doctor still says nothing, and eventually Rose gives up on trying to catch his eye and leaves with a meaningful look at Jack that he can’t quite read.

He spends a few more moments awkwardly standing in the control room and trying to get his breath back, and when the Doctor still hasn’t acknowledged him he says, “I think I’ll follow Rose’s example and take a shower. I haven’t been this sticky since that one time on Alfava Metraxis when—“

He’s abruptly cut off when the Doctor grabs him by the scruff of the neck with a low growling noise coming from somewhere deep in his throat, and before he can say _what the fuck_ he’s bent over the jump seat and the Doctor’s hand smacks down on his ass. Jack yelps and bucks uselessly against the Doctor’s hold, who only tightens his grip and slaps him again and harder.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” Jack demands through clenched teeth, his skin burning even through the denim of his trousers.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” the Doctor asks and delivers another blow, and he sounds torn between amusement and contempt. “I’m spanking you.”

“No shit,” Jack says, and it dissolves into another undignified yelp when the next blow lands on the underside of his ass and delivers a jolt straight to his prostate. “Fuck.” He slumps and drops his forehead to the seat, and the upholstery smells strange, like dust and time, and he tries to focus on that and not the erection he’s getting.

The Doctor’s grip loosens when he senses Jack’s surrender, and he squeezes his shoulder in a paternal sort of way that, paradoxically, only makes Jack’s cock harder. “Do you know why I’m doing this?” he asks.

Jack’s pretty sure that getting the answer right is important, but his head throbs relentlessly and every muscle in his body aches and burns and with arousal zapping through him all he manages is, “Uh.”

“Wrong answer, lad,” the Doctor informs him, and spanks him three times in quick succession. 

“Fuck,” Jack says again, and it comes out as more of a whine than he would have liked.

“Nope,” the Doctor says, and Jack can hear the infuriating grin in his voice. “Try again.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” Jack hisses, and tries to keep his hips from bucking when every other slap the Doctor delivers jostles his prostate and pushes his twitching cock into the edge of the seat. “Fuck, okay, I get it.”

The Doctor stops with his hand cupping Jack’s ass, and he rubs absent-mindedly as he asks, “Do you really now?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and fights against the urge to pant and moan, and if he sounds a bit breathless he figures having run for his life is a good excuse. He swallows against the iron taste that’s still in his mouth, and his eyes are closed and his voice muffled slightly by the jump seat when he says, “Yeah. You’re pissed I flirted with the locals and got us chased off the planet. Again. But seriously, how the fuck was I supposed to know that’s a criminal offence punishable by death on this backwater rock? Also, just for the record, Rose is to blame just as much.”

The Doctor says nothing, and the next blows are hard enough to almost be on the wrong end of the pleasure/pain spectrum and Jack gives up on counting or keeping himself in check and dissolves into soft cries and low groans.

“Wrong again, Captain,” he says, and Jack makes a desperate sound when the Doctor leans over his back to speak into his ear. “I’m _pissed,_ ‘cause you’re an insufferable brat who nearly gets us killed on more than half of the planets we visit and you think that’s funny.”

“Hey, I get us out of trouble just as often!” Jack protests, and it only gets him another slap that makes him hiss and shudder.

“I didn’t say you don’t,” the Doctor says, his thighs brushing the backs of Jack’s. “And, just for the record, Rose doesn’t know any better. You do. Or you should, anyway.”

Jack sighs, and screws his eyes shut against the overwhelming shame crashing over him. He’s long since suspected the Doctor knows how much he craves approval and likes to exploit that to make him do as he’s told; he just didn’t think he’d ever use it against him quite so much. And really, honestly, it shouldn’t matter to him what this man, this alien he’s only known for a month in linear time thinks of him. But it does.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and the Doctor snorts.

“Is that supposed to mean you’re sorry?” he asks, and lifts his hand from Jack’s ass to deliver another blow.

“Yes!” Jack gasps, keen on getting the fuck out of this situation as quickly as possible. “Yes, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” His entire backside stings, the skin uncomfortably hot and feeling raw against his jeans, his cock aches as much as the rest of his body and all he wants is some cold water for his dry throat and a wank while he has a long shower. Idiot that he is, he has to be honest with the Doctor. “I’ll try, anyway. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but I can promise I’ll try.”

There’s a beat of silence, when Jack braces himself for more pain and more humiliating pleasure, and then the Doctor chuckles and says, “At least you’re honest.” Jack breathes a sigh of relief when the Doctor steps back and lets go, only to tense again when he says, “One more thing, Jack.”

“What’s that,” he says, voice flat and trying to stay perfectly still in the vain hope that the Doctor will spare him if he just makes himself appear uninteresting enough.

“Are you turned on by this?” he asks, and he sounds vaguely amused and a lot like he’s genuinely interested in the answer.

Jack’s throat contracts, his mouth too dry to swallow. “Hey, I’m bent over and you’re behind me, what did you expect?” he says, trying for glib and failing.

The Doctor makes a thoughtful noise, and just when Jack thinks he’ll let him escape with at least a fraction of his dignity intact he says, “Drop trousers, Captain.”

“What the fuck,” Jack says, and tries to stand up but a hand pushing down on the centre of his back keeps him effectively pinned. He twists his head as much as he can to get a look at the Doctor’s face, but his expression tells him nothing. “No, really. _What_ the fuck?”

The Doctor rolls his eyes and reaches around to unbutton and unzip Jack’s jeans, and Jack moans helplessly as he pulls his cock out and tugs a few times until his palm is wet with pre-come.

“Jesus, fuck, what are you doing,” Jack hisses, hips twitching into the Doctor’s hand and his own hands curling into fists against the edges of the seat.

“You’re not at your smartest when you’re desperate to get off, are you?” the Doctor says, and sounds strangely fond as he pulls Jack’s trousers down to his knees.

What Jack expects to happen is something like this: a hard, dry fuck that’s over far too fast and leaves him walking funny for a few days. Or, maybe more realistically, more spanking before he’s sent off shame-faced and hard and unable to get himself off because he knows the Doctor knows what he’s doing, and the Doctor knows he knows. He expects another mindfuck, like the other week when they were at a club in the thirty-seventh century and the Doctor agreed to dance with him and then left him horny and confused after the song ended. He expects another rebuff, all tight grins and friendly pats on the back and _that’s enough now, lad._ He expects more of what he’s been getting ever since he met the Doctor: meaningless innuendo and teasing flirting, and unfailingly pulling back before they cross any lines.

What he gets is, of course, something else entirely, and he’s been aboard the TARDIS long enough that he really should have expected _that._

The Doctor drops to his knees behind him with the muffled thud of denim against metal grating, and Jack thinks that that really can’t be comfortable. He’s about to say something to that effect when the Doctor uses his thumbs to spread his buttocks apart, and at the first touch of tongue to his perineum Jack simply lets his head thud back onto the seat with a groan and says nothing.

The Doctor bites the back of his thigh, at the very top where leg curves into ass, and Jack curses under his breath. It makes the Doctor grin against him, and then he’s licking Jack in earnest and _fuck,_ but it never even occurred to Jack to fantasise about this.

It’s mostly heat and wetness and the overwhelming feeling of being _exposed_ as the Doctor’s thumbs continue to hold him open and his tongue alternates between broad licks and pushing against Jack’s entrance in a way that makes him want to open up and clench all at once. It’s incredible, fantastic really, and with the Doctor’s stubble scraping against over-sensitised and smarting skin and Jack’s entire body burning inside and out from the day’s adrenaline rush, it’s far, far too much.

He chokes out something unintelligible and utterly undignified, and bites his own forearm to muffle his keening moans.

The Doctor pulls away, and nips his right buttock just where it’s reddest and hurts the most, and Jack curses as his cock twitches and leaks onto the upholstery.

“Turn over,” the Doctor says, voice low and dirty against Jack’s spit-slick skin.

It takes a bit of manoeuvring and the Doctor tugging at uncooperative, tired limbs, but eventually Jack finds himself looking at the spinning ceiling. It occurs to him that the ceiling probably shouldn’t be spinning, and he closes his eyes as the Doctor takes the tip of his cock into his mouth and pushes a wet thumb into him.

With his eyes closed it’s only the ringing in his ears and the wet sounds of the Doctor sucking him, interspersed with low, humming groans around his cock that make him gasp and moan. Jack comes like that; with the Doctor’s thumb rhythmically pushing against his swollen prostate and his cock twitching against the roof of the Doctor’s mouth and shit, he didn’t even warn him.

“I,” Jack gasps, and the Doctor pulls his finger out and gives the head of his softening cock a last lingering suck.

He stands up, and pats Jack’s leg. “That’s okay, I don’t mind,” he tells him, looking like the fucking cat who got the cream and like he knows exactly what Jack was about to say. He probably does, at that.

Jack decides to let it go, and stays sprawled on his back with his jeans caught somewhere around his knees and feeling stifled and sticky, still in the shirt that smells of fear and sweat and, now, sex. “Fuck me,” he says on a shuddery exhale, and rubs at his eyes in an attempt to make the pounding behind them stop.

“Didn’t think you’d be up for another round so soon,” the Doctor says, and Jack looks up to find him unzipping his trousers and pulling his cock out.

“No offence, Doc,” he says, and licks his lips as he watches the Doctor give himself a few lazy strokes, “but I won’t be able to sit for a week as it is.”

“I know,” The Doctor says, and his self-satisfied grin is infuriating and sexier than Jack would ever admit.

“Let me give you a hand with that,” he says, and sitting up makes stars dance in front of his eyes.

The Doctor shakes his head and says, “Nah, that’s fine.”

“Do you mind if I touch you anyway?” Jack asks, his hand hovering just above the hem of the Doctor’s jumper.

“No,” the Doctor says, frowning in confusion and a little out of breath now that his hand’s speeding up.

Jack pushes his jumper up and wrestles him out of the leather jacket, and the Doctor groans and tips his head back when he nips at his throat. He scrapes his teeth down the side of the Doctors neck, whose hand tightens around his cock even as he hisses and jerks away. Jack soothes the stinging skin with swipes of his tongue, and when he sucks on his earlobe the Doctor makes the most delightfully overwhelmed noise. 

“Can I kiss you?” Jack asks, deliberately breathing into the Doctor’s ear and earning himself a full-body shudder.

“What kind of a question is that?” the Doctor asks, pulling back so he can look at Jack’s face. “I just had my tongue up your arse, d’you really think I’m gonna draw the line at having yours in my mouth?”

Jack shrugs, and does his best to kiss the grumpy look off the Doctor’s face.

He’d expected it to be aggressive, for there to be some sort of a struggle to gain the upper hand in it, but instead it’s surprisingly slow and unhurried, in counterpoint to the rapid movements of the Doctor stroking himself. Kissing the Doctor, Jack reflects, is a lot like stepping through the doors of a small, blue box and finding that it’s bigger on the inside.

When the Doctor comes Jack’s torn between watching his face scrunch up in orgasm and watching his cock twitch and spurt. In the end he settles for kissing him through it and cupping his palm over the head of his cock to avoid making a complete mess.

The Doctor slumps against him with a grunt, his head resting on Jack’s shoulder and he only cracks one eye open to raise an eyebrow at Jack when he licks the come off his hand. He snorts when Jack makes an exaggerated noise of appreciation, and lazily pulls away to stretch.

Jack takes the opportunity to stare and earns himself a sharp slap to the back of the head for it.

“Oi, my eyes are up here,” the Doctor says, and his voice is serious but his grin says it’s all teasing.

“Sorry, sir,” Jack says with a mock salute, and if they weren’t still half-dressed and hadn’t just made each other come then this would all just be business as usual.

There’s a brief moment of awkwardness then, when they both become aware of their state of undress and what happened really sinks in, and neither of them knows what to say. The thing to do would, quite probably, be pretending like everything’s as it was before and never speaking of this again. But they’re the Doctor and Jack Harkness, and doing the sensible thing isn’t exactly one of their strong suits.

Jack says, “Does this mean I’m getting off every time I screw up from now on?”

It’s not what he means to say, not the question he wants answered, but before now there’s always been a clear line between the teasing innuendo and going too far and Jack’s made it his business to know exactly where it is. Except that now the Doctor’s gone and crossed it, and Jack isn’t sure where that leaves them.

The Doctor rolls his eyes and zips up his trousers, and says, “Go to your room, I’ll be by in a bit with something that should make sitting less painful tomorrow.”

Jack stands and pulls his jeans back up, but he can’t be bothered to fasten them again. “Wouldn’t it be easier to do that in the medbay?”

“Jack,” the Doctor says, and gives him one of those _stupid ape_ looks. “I’ll meet you in your room.”

Jack’s mouth forms a soundless _oh,_ and the Doctor rolls his eyes again.

“You’re not exactly at your smartest _after_ you get off either, are you? Fantastic.” Jack would be hurt if it weren’t for the Doctor’s delightfully manic grin.


End file.
